“For real.”
My eyes fall closed again. The sweat on my forehead is chilling now and I shiver. In seconds, a soft blanket sinks over me. Big hands tuck it around me, then touch my forehead again.
“Good,” he says softly. “Breathe. Out. In.”
Following his instructions, I drag my eyes open to stare at him.
His face is tight lines and thin lips, his forehead corrugated. The skin at the corners of his eyes tightens even more as he touches my cheekbone. “You’ve been crying.”
“No. I don’t cry. I was… just… scared.”
“What are you scared about?”
“I thought I was dying.”
His face becomes even harsher. “Nikki.”
“Maybe I am,” I choke out. “Maybe I should.”
“Jesus Christ.” His throat works as he swallows. “Nikki, no.”
I roll my head on the pillow and the room spins around me, making my stomach pitch. I have to get control. I have to be okay. This is unacceptable.
I close my eyes again and lie still. I gulp past the stricture in my throat, fighting off the tears. Again. I feel minutely better.
He wipes my damp forehead again, then the bed moves as he gets up. Is he leaving? Or is this really a dream and it’s just ending? I barely have time to ask these questions before he’s back.
“Can you sit up a little?” He slides an arm behind my shoulders to prop me up and holds up a glass of water.
Oh, yes. I want that water. I want it so bad. I grab for the glass, spilling some on the blanket, and bring it to my mouth. I drink in noisy swallows and the icy cold feels so good on my aching throat. But… “I’m not supposed to have cold water,” I whisper.
“Just drink it. It’s okay for now.”
He’s right. It’s okay because I’m never going to sing again.
I finish the glass and he takes it from me and lowers me back to the pillow. “That was so good.”
As the dizziness subsides and the noise in my ears slowly fades, I take deeper breaths. I can breathe. This is good. But I’m exhausted. My arms and legs are so heavy. My eyelids feel like they have ten-pound weights attached to them.
* * *
I wake up in a dark room, a sliver of light gleaming through the slightly ajar door. I don’t move but shift my eyes around. No dizziness. No queasiness. I take inventory of my body—stomach still a little tight, eyes gritty, and mouth dry. There’s a lingering feeling of dread, but I mostly feel normal.
“You’re awake.”
I jump nearly a foot off the bed, my head swiveling to the shadowy figure sitting in the chair in the corner. He’s big, wide-shouldered and messy-haired.
Fuck! I’m dreaming again. I’ve had a lot of dreams about Marek but usually they’re fun and sexy, not me falling apart.
He stands and moves closer. He shoves his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting. “How do you feel?”
“Stupid.” I can say whatever I want in a dream.
“What? Why?”
“I’m supposed to be sexy in my dreams about you. Not a mess.”
In the faint light I see his mouth lift at the corners. “You think you’re still dreaming.”
